


Eat Your Heart Out, Hitachi Magic Wand

by Defiler_Wyrm, hobbitdragon



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Horror, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Cunnilingus, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, Dubious Consentacles, F/M, Fisting, Gangbang, Group Sex, Humor, Kinda? like soft body horror if there is such a thing, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Oral Sex, Orgy, Parasites, SHIELD, Self-Lubrication, Sex Pollen, Slime, Spitroasting, Symbiotic Relationship, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacle Rape, Tentacle Sex, Triple Penetration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 09:50:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15726978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defiler_Wyrm/pseuds/Defiler_Wyrm, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitdragon/pseuds/hobbitdragon
Summary: Bucky just wanted some damn meat pies, not an assful of alien slime creature. But the real surprise came later, at which point Bucky came again and again and again.





	1. A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Bakery

**Author's Note:**

> So this was a fun RP!
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: This fic features not only non-consensual use of alien pheromones/psychoactive substances, but non-consensual penetration, orgasm, and implantation of parasitic life-forms while Bucky is under the influence of those substances. Further, this fic also features sex pollen that affects the entire Avengers team. The "non-con" and "dub-con" are this fic is relatively softcore, given that this fic is chiefly written for comedy/smut purposes rather than angst--and the fic has a happy ending. But the entire premise is founded around absent or compromised consent and violations of bodily autonomy. Please mind your own triggers if you choose to read this. 
> 
> Also, the "parasites" tag is no joke. If parasites entering, existing in, and then leaving a human body is gonna freak you out to read, skip this fic. The process is neither gory nor brutal, but this fic still very much contains depiction of a parasitic life-form living inside a human body.

Bucky could admit it: he had a problem. The problem being that Stark had damn near every show available to watch, Bucky had asked JARVIS for recommendations of soothing shows to watch, and he’d then binged on Great British Bake-Off. His therapist had him working hard on wanting things, and the easiest things to want so far were food. He could handle wanting foods. Relatively low-cost, didn’t infringe on others, could be acquired from willing vendors. And the damn Bake-Off show made him constantly hungry thanks to the power of suggestion and his thrice-damned supersoldier metabolism. Which meant that for the last week as he’d worked his way through the show’s backlog, he’d ordered an embarrassing amount of take-out and left the Tower more often than ever before in pursuit of the obscure items he found himself craving. His therapist was delighted, though, and given how rarely he managed to delight anyone with his progress, Bucky wasn’t about to stop.  
  
This time it was meat pies. He’d found a restaurant most of the way across the city that made and sold them. Two trains had gotten him here, walking a final mile toward the eatery. He felt like a bomb homing in on its target, ready to demolish everything in his path. With his mouth.

The first indication that something was off was the smell. The mouth-watering aromas of fresh bread and pastry had him picking up the pace for the last block. A cross breeze ruined it utterly with something sour and sickly-sweet, like rancid meat. At first he might have mistaken it for a garbage smell coming off a dumpster somewhere, but that wasn’t quite it, not when Bucky really noticed it and started sniffing.  
  
The second indication was the noise, a deep, thrumming drone that called to mind a jet engine warming up, only lower. It hummed louder than the passing traffic—stopped—started again.  
  
If those weren't enough to divert Bucky’s attention, the scream that followed surely was. It was a tenor voice in a series of labored, staccato cries. Not the kind of sound someone made when getting stabbed (or blown in an alley, memory supplied), but definitely not a happy one either.

Bucky’s first thought was: _Nope. Not doing this. I’m tired and hungry._ His second thought was: _You’re living in the Avengers Tower for chrissakes, and you’ve got a lot to make up for._ He hesitated for all of thirty seconds, frozen on the sidewalk and staring at nothing, before running in the direction of the screaming. Part of him was already screaming too. He didn’t want this, whatever it turned out to be. He just wanted meat pie!  
  
A block down and around the corner, he saw the problem and stopped short, staring at it. The world kind of…receded, at the sight of it.  
  
Stretched between two skyscrapers and hanging over the street was a massive shape. It emitted another shattering hum, and from this distance it vibrated the tissues inside Bucky’s skull, the ground under his feet, and the bones of his chest cavity. When silence returned he pulled in a harsh gasp, breathless.

The thing didn’t have a cohesive body shape. It moved, pulling back and forth, parts of it stretching out to hold itself more tightly between the buildings, but it was like the squishable substances Barton kept buying him to play with. It spread like ooze, the biggest mass suspended from gelatinous webbing that throbbed and squirmed.

Then he noticed the people—and car—in the thing’s grasp. The people were not so much held as partially submerged, being drawn closer and closer to the center.

The obvious response was to shoot it, which Bucky did, with the small ten millimeter he kept in his chest harness. The bullets sank in, leaving brief dents but getting no other response beyond another profound bassline that rattled Bucky like a boxed Christmas present in the hands of an over-eager child. When he could think straight again, he tried throwing a knife at the nearest tendril—but after burying itself to the hilt, it just got sucked into the mass. He could see it suspended under the surface.  
  
So he called Steve, putting the phone on speaker and shoving it into the breast pocket of his jacket.  
  
“Bucky, where are you, we just got the call to Assemble—“  
  
“I’m about to do do something really stupid, so you better get here quick, asshole!” Bucky half-shouted, running up the sidewalk. And then punched a low-hanging chunk of ooze.

It became immediately apparent that yep, that was a pretty damn dumb move! It was like striking tar. His fist sank _into_ the mass easily enough but removing it was another matter entirely. Pulling so hard that the joints of his shoulder and elbow complained, he _almost_ thought he could remove himself. He could just see the back of his own hand coming free of it when the thing decided it didn’t like that one bit. A pseudopod extruded from the greater mass and wrapped around his waist like a whip. It was thicker around than his arm and dragged him closer. Digging his heels in slowed it, but it wasn’t enough to stop.  
  
The modern world was bullshit. No one had to deal with giant snot monsters in the 40's.  
  
"Bucky? Bucky!!" Steve's voice was tinny and strident. "Are you on Staten Island right now? We're on our way—"  
  
The thing hummed again as it tugged Bucky closer. A second pseudopod oozed out to wrap around an ankle as well.

Punching it objectively sucked, as did struggling against it, but as it wrapped around his other hand and lifted him off the street it was still…sorta nice. Good elasticity and feel against the skin.

 _Fuck Barton,_ Bucky couldn’t help but think. This wasn’t Barton’s fault—unless it was, who knew with Barton—but if Barton hadn’t programmed Bucky to associate slime with positive feelings, Bucky wouldn’t be thinking about what a nice texture this thing had.  
  
Fuck Barton.  
  
Out loud, Bucky said, “If I die, give my collection of weird shit to Barton. Most of it came from him anyway.”  
  
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Steve growled, and then the phone got subsumed by the oncoming slime. It didn’t even give a dramatic fizzle, which was a letdown, just went silent and dark.  
  
Breathing got difficult, the pressure of the slime not allowing him to inhale anywhere but up into his shoulders. He thought wildly of how upset that would make his therapist, who was always telling him to take deep belly breaths and feel the airflow. He couldn’t feel the airflow, and he was definitely not taking deep belly breaths. The stuff was crawling up the legs of his jeans and through every gap in his clothes. It had both his arms and one leg, and he was at least forty feet off the ground now.  
  
Stark would have something for this, Bucky told himself. He would. He kept telling himself that as the ooze got down the front of his pants, enveloping his cock and balls in a cool grip that felt like he’s just dunked his business into jello.

The other people caught in the…well, it was probably a creature of some kind, but these days there was no telling what whackadoo thing was a life form and what wasn't—but the other people caught in it were making a lot less of a racket than one would expect. The slime-thing's bulk obscured most of them from view so there was only sound to go by, but it was strangely quiet. Only an occasional groan could be heard over the omnipresent sound of traffic and car horns. The lack of hubbub was hardly the weirdest thing about the situation, but one would really expect there to be a lot more terrified screaming.  
  
His other leg got caught and that was that. Thrashing against it was as useful as slapping water. The slime creeping up through his pants met the pseudopod that got him into this mess and they merged together with a horrible, wet slorp. The stuff wasn't stationary against his skin either; it moved in waves and ripples, pressing into him as if testing the give of his flesh.

As his luck would have it, it soon found a place that had just enough give. The waves of pressure quickly focused on his ass from taint to crack. It didn't take a lot of imagination to see where this was going. Or where the slime was going, for that matter. When the thing hummed again, part of Bucky’s mind hysterically supplied the thought that it felt an awful lot like sitting on a vibrator.

Bucky’d had paranoid thoughts of what he’d say to Steve if Steve ever found the Hitachi Bucky kept by his bed. It was actually and truly meant to be a massager for use on his left shoulder and back when it was hurting, the same as the hot pad Steve himself had bought for Bucky. Bucky sometimes even just held the damned thing when he was triggered out of his skull and couldn’t figure out where his own damn body was. Because oh, there was his body, hanging onto the supervibrator so that it buzzed against his left hand like the world’s largest and angriest hornet. It helped.  
  
Sitting on the thing had happened later when Bucky was bored and the chemicals had flushed out of his system enough for him to remember what an erection was and care that he had one. The Hitachi felt nice on his shoulder. On his face. On his hands, both metal and flesh. It hadn’t taken a genius to intuit that it might be nice on other parts of his body as well, or to prove the hypothesis correct in short order.  
  
But as Bucky had told Steve several times in the anxious space of his own mind, the thing was for _massage and massage only_ . Really and honestly! Definitely nothing else at all ever.  
  
Bucky would have liked the giant slime-beast better if it was _also_ for massage only because this thing was getting outright frisky. The lump between his asscheeks expanded like that one time-lapse video of mushrooms growing that Bucky had found and giggled at for half an hour because they looked like fungal boners.  
  
This time was _not_ very funny. This time very much involved his asshole being expanded by an unknown substance while he could barely breathe and was awkwardly staring down two complete strangers and the bumper of their car. The license plate had 69 in it.

It wasn't exactly the sort of situation where you can make small talk. How would that even go? "So you're getting anally probed too, huh? Tough town these days." The timbre of the occasional cries from other people made a lot more sense once the slime started forcing its way into him. It was cold comfort that the cool slickness of the stuff went a long way to ease the inevitable burn and pinch of getting stretched open. Because it filled him up fast, still rippling, and something like this _shouldn't_ feel good but nerves don't choose what they feel, his therapist would tell him. When the pseudopod that formed to explore his insides drew back and slid back in forcefully Bucky found himself making one of those noises, muffled by gritted teeth—and if he could just get a fucking breath he could do breathing exercises to ride this out.  
  
Problem was, there was always another option lurking in the back of his scarred-up, half-healed brain: he could go empty and let whatever happened, happen. Right about now, that seemed like a great idea. But Steve would be disappointed and worried for weeks if he found out, and Bucky’s therapist was like a bloodhound on the watch for dissociation.  
  
Why weren't the other victims freaking out more? Why wasn't he? His therapist was the best that seventy years of Army back pay could buy, and Bucky could acknowledge she’d been doing good work with him, but even that didn't account for feeling…almost relaxed, given the circumstances. Then the questing slime tentacle twisted and wriggled and that made it pretty damn hard to think.

Bucky had made very tentative forays into playing with his ass. Stark made a lot of comments about asses and butts and the various things that could be done to them, and that plus a few judicious web searches had been enlightening. Hence sitting on the Hitachi. But Bucky’s own reserved self-explorations were, compared to what was happening now, like going into one's backyard versus going on the journey of Lewis and Clark. Words like “epic” sprang to mind. Bucky gasped some more, just for good measure, because that seemed like the thing to do right now.  
  
The guy next to him had a lip piercing and a kiss mark tattooed onto his neck behind his ear. Some of his hair had gotten stuck into the Stuff, which to Bucky seemed like a worse fate than the anal violation. The introduction of high-end conditioner and maintenance trimming into Bucky’s life had been a revelation, and he had no desire whatsoever to find out what this slime would do to his well-loved locks.  
  
The other guy went cross-eyed when the vibrations started up again, and Bucky himself could hardly see straight. Only years of Hydra training in completing missions with moderate to severe injuries kept him able to focus. But mostly what he focused on was his asshole and the contents thereof. Was he hard? He couldn’t be, where would there even be _room_ for it? Though on the other hand, it's not like that would stop a dick from trying. Thank God he hadn’t worn skinny cut jeans today.  
  
Research had taught him a few things about stimulating the prostate. But it was one thing to read about it, and quite another to actually have something rubbing and pressing and twisting against it. 'Like a G-spot,' indeed. The tentacle slowly thrashed inside him with no indication of actively seeking it out while still happening upon it plenty often enough. The next time it withdrew and pushed back in, it was thicker, stretching Bucky wider and probing deeper. Now he understood _fullness_ as more than just a concept, too, and there was definitely something to be said for it.

Steve had said he and the other Avengers would be there soon, but…maybe it wouldn't be the end of the world if they were a little late.

Time seemed to…slow. Twice, Bucky had managed something similar during meditations, and felt kind of high for an hour afterward. During those meditations, Bucky had been using Youtube videos to focus on his breathing and visualize a positive future. He’d imagined holding hands with Steve, learning how to bake cakes, maybe getting Stark to build him a robot dog he couldn’t kill by accident. He’d imagined a better arm, no more panic attacks, and getting up the nerve to ask Natasha if she could help him pick a new hair color. He had definitely not been visualizing the sensation of his asshole at maximum capacity, or contemplating the true nature of the prostate and its relationship to orgasm, but well. The future was surprising in a lot of ways, he supposed.  
  
His breathing slowed. The sky was very blue. The sun reflected off the windows of the skyscrapers around them. An extrusion of the biomass curled up over his collarbone. The ground lay far below. He had no idea what his dick was doing. He was definitely going to come.  
  
_Look Steve,_ he said to himself, _aren’t you proud? I’m not even depersonalizing. I think. Is it possible to start feeling an orgasm in my hands and feet as well as my asshole if I’m dissociating? Because I feel mindful as shit right now._

Really, with the possible exception of Thor, this might have been the best alien invasion New York had been through. Assuming this thing was alien. Maybe someone grew it in a lab and it got loose. Who fucking knew! Furthermore, who cared? It was fine. They were all fine. Just a bunch of strangers having a good time.  
  
There would probably be no chance of convincing his therapist of that, if he even brought this up at all.  
  
But the strange calm was effective all the same. Pheromones, maybe. Or a contact poison. Neurotoxin. There were plenty of drugs that did that. A few of them even worked on him, in high enough doses. The thing hummed again and Bucky lost his train of thought. There was only the fullness and pressure and vibration and a desperate need to come and the certainty that if the tentacle would just fuck him against that spot a little more he'd do so. Someone groaned. It might have been him, it was hard to tell.

In among the relaxation and Good Times, a sharp pinch inside startled Bucky into struggling, just for a moment. But the sensation passed as quickly as it came, and Bucky subsided back into the blissful waves of pleasure as he waited and waited to come.  
  
Below Bucky, the mass had picked up a few more people. Their screams were kind of harshing his buzz, honestly. He listened until they stopped, and then he went back to the Best Mindfulness Exercise Ever. His prostate was a thing of beauty and a joy forever, and he was prepared to sing its praises in church as a sign God loved him after all.  
  
Then something red and gold streaked overhead, firing into the thing holding them up, and the whole mass shuddered. It twisted, vibrating so hard Bucky felt his teeth loosen in his skull—and Bucky came.  
  
After all the buildup, it was a bit of a disappointment to be done, but that was life. Bucky accepted this too with equanimity, noting the muscles of his ass squeezing down around the protuberance inside him. That felt good too, really. He could stand to come again. If it would just keep up what it was doing, he would.

Things started getting noisy, though. The next time the thing hummed, a second, higher note rose from it to join the first, something akin to a girder coming loose in a building. A staticky voice buzzed overhead but Bucky couldn't catch the words. A boom rocked the slime-thing's mass, jolting Bucky and the tentacle still twisting around inside his ass. A series of smaller concussions took out the oozy webbing adhering it to one building, and the whole thing sagged while vibrating violently. This should have been extraordinarily worrisome, given he was still stuck in the damn thing, but apparently it had him hopped up on Monster Xanax so the concern was purely intellectual.  
  
Was this what mood stabilizers were supposed to feel like?  
  
Gunfire rang out again but not for long. Whoever was shooting at the thing figured out as quickly as Bucky had that bullets were as useless as a screen door on a submarine.

It appeared that he was being rescued by the Avengers, then. For as many times as his therapist had asked him to escape traumatic memories by visualizing a better outcome, and as many times as Bucky had then imagined Steve breaking into the various vaults Hydra stored Bucky in and righteously wrecking everything, Bucky had never imagined anything quite like this. For one, he never imagined _Stark_ rescuing him from anything. Steve _was_ here somewhere, Bucky was sure, but as Bucky was face-up in the ooze, all he saw was Iron Man being his usual showboat self and zipping around like a chihuahua on speed. Second, Bucky had never imagined hoping a firefight would go on longer so he could get off a second time in a row. Because the harmonics this thing now had going on were really Doing It for him. By which he meant he could feel a tide of Good Times rolling up his spine like a tank and the thing inside him seemed to have swollen with rage and was riding his ass into the sunset.  
  
Possibly if the thing fell with him still inside it, it might fall on top of him and crush his skull and spine like a grape under a jackboot. But that was secondary to what was rapidly becoming the best orgasm Bucky ever wanted to remember having.

A roar shook the air, and wasn't that just great. The thing's bulk flexed and bowed with the impact of something large. The mental image of the Hulk getting stuck inside of and tentacle-fucked by a slime monster was surely going to haunt a dream or two. More screams then joined the ruckus. Then footsteps on the street below: several people stumbling and then running away. Mostly he hoped that meant people were getting freed, but he couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for them getting cut off from this overwhelming bliss.  
  
The whine of rocket boosters heralded Stark's arrival several yards overhead. "Fancy meeting you here."  
  
"A little occupied," Bucky grated out, internally congratulating himself on the secret double entendre. This was not a conversation he wanted to have.  
  
"Sit tight, Robocop, we'll have you out of there in a sec."  
  
Not like he was going anywhere anyway. Stark apparently figured he could leave Barnes for last and zipped off to see to Lip Ring Guy instead. A laser beam from one hand seared into the ooze like a knife through Jell-O, which smelled awful, but at least seemed effective. Stark grabbed the guy under the shoulders and his foot propulsors flared for a few seconds. Then with an awful SLORP they pulled free with a thick coating of goo still clinging to him, leaving the man's shoes behind inside the ooze.

Man, Bucky liked the boots he was wearing. He hoped his didn’t get left behind like this. Then he got lost imagining Steve in nothing but boots, and himself down on all fours shining those boots, or maybe kissing them, and orgasm felt closer than ever. Steve didn’t care much about fancy clothes, never had, but boy did he ever like showing off his tits these days. His criteria for dressing himself seemed to be that everything be colorless and bland but show off his assets to best effect. Bucky would have liked a little more color, but he could hardly talk. He dressed to blend in. Like a chameleon, if a chameleon went out of its way to wear unremarkable clothes designed to hide his enhanced physique.  
  
Bucky lost the train of thought when the pleasure cranked up a little higher. Stark had returned, and Bucky almost wanted to tell him to just fly around a few more times because he was so, _so_ close—  
  
Stark lasered through the ooze all around Bucky, which writhed as it tried to escape from the repulsors. The pseudopod withdrew from him all at once and it wrung a shout from him. Just as Bucky dropped away like a particularly ripe fruit popping off a branch, he came, groaning into the shoulder of the Suit as Stark carried him away.  
  
This was not how Bucky had wanted to have his first partnered orgasm since leaving Hydra, but whatever. Could have been worse. He closed his eyes, resigning himself to jerking off thinking about the Suit for a while too on top of everything else. He just hoped whatever scans Stark’s helmet allowed him to do couldn’t detect an orgasm through the goo.

Bucky got deposited on the street a little ways off, thus finally getting a wider view of the action. From the look of it, somehow they'd talked Banner into retrieval duty; he had little trouble plucking people out of the gunk. Snatches of red, white, and blue appeared on the other side of it, glimpsed between flailing pseudopodia. Steve must have been helping out somehow.

Once everyone was freed, a fresh set of mini-rockets took out the webbing that was holding the thing up on the other side, and the whole thing sagged out across the ground like a collapsing flan. Now instead of a huge gob suspended in the air, it was a humming street hazard with wildly failing tentacles whipping around its surface with a car submerged in the middle. No one was bothering with the car, apparently.  
  
From there the Avengers kept their distance. Projectiles hadn't done an awful lot but tick it off, so Stark got to do what he loved more than anything else in the world: showboat some more. The ordeal turned into a light show as he sliced and burnt at the thing with his fancy hand lasers. Even then, it was slow going. Snippets of chatter mentioned chemical solvents and time constraints.  
  
Meanwhile, Bucky was soaked in pinkish goo from the chest down. He looked like he'd been wading in shampoo but smelled like a garbage incinerator. The tentacle that he'd been growing to love was long gone, and it left an empty feeling behind. Empty, and squishy.

This was worse than the first time Bucky had tried the bidets attached to all the toilets in the Tower. Bucky hadn’t been prepared for a high-powered jet of room-temperature water to immediately make itself acquainted with the inside of his asshole, and he'd had a bit of a Moment as a result. Since then he’d become a convert, and also figured out how to control the water pressure settings. But standing in his ruined clothes with a damp and lonely backside felt like that first time in the Tower: wet taint, blinking in shock, and offended at the whole situation.  
  
SHIELD ambulances arrived soon enough and carted Bucky and the others off. The people in hazmat suits just made Bucky sigh. He would have liked to go his whole life without being considered a biohazard zone, but then, there were a lot of things he would have liked that he hadn’t gotten. Like not being kidnapped by Hydra, and also a third orgasm. And his damn meat pies!  
  
The faceless team were at least polite as they stripped and bagged his clothes, including his poor boots. He mourned them and his phone in silence before a real concern occurred to him: _would they notice his asshole._ Could someone eyeball an asshole and see that it had been recently fucked? Bucky kept himself facing the ambulance workers, hoping the knock-off serum in his body would tighten that shit up to normal levels pretty soon, because every time he moved he could feel his insides rubbing against each other in a way that was real disconcerting. He was very disconcerted. If there was a concert, he was not it. He was that one recording of an orchestra that had all swapped instruments and tried to play, the recording that Stark had played for Steve that made him laugh till he went red in the face.

The usual lines of questioning followed, of course. Lines, plural, because he had to go over the details of the incident with three separate groups: the paramedics, the SHIELD doctors, and then a SHIELD evaluation team. He gave them all a decidedly edited account and hoped to all hell they wouldn't see through his bullshit and pry into what he was hiding. It was none of their damned business if the thing had gotten intimate with him, and they certainly didn't need to know that he gladly would have spent another hour of quality time with it. He did disclose the abnormal calm that was probably the ooze's doing, though, and one of the clipboard jockeys mentioned something about that being consistent with other victims' accounts.  
  
Other victims' accounts? Shit, fuck, how many of them would be discreet? Was it reasonable to expect them to be, or even to hope for that? If they weren't, would SHIELD try to badger Bucky into telling them whether or not it had happened to him? Worse, would they tell the Avengers? Would they tell _Steve?_  
  
Said abnormal calm wore off about halfway through the second debriefing, and from then on everything and everyone standing between Bucky and a shower was a giant pain in his ass.  
  
Though his ass actually still felt great, for the record, aside from being in dire need of a nice thorough douche. Except that if there was anything Bucky very much wanted to keep _out_ of the official record, it was how great his ass felt right now. After the first half hour he closed up just fine, but he still remembered that delicious stretch and throb, and was already planning his next online purchases once the medical staff released him. There were silicone dildo attachments for the Hitachi. He’d seen them, but at the time they’d seemed too adventurous. He hadn’t been ready for penetration on his own, just playing with the outside of his ass and some casual taint massage. But _boy howdy_ was Bucky ready now. He was so ready he was fully planning on same-day shipping because Stark’s expense account could handle it and this was absolutely necessary to the health and well-being of the Avengers unit as a whole. Steve was obviously happier when Bucky was having a good day, and while that was a lot of pressure, so was a high-powered vibrator to the prostate and that sounded like a really good idea just about now.  
  
Finally, after drawing what had to be close to a pint of Bucky’s blood and grilling him like a damn burger in a backyard, the medical team decided to keep him for overnight observation and containment. Which seemed like cruel and unusual punishment, really, and that was Bucky speaking as something of an expert on the subject of cruel and unusual punishments. He comforted himself with knowing that the moment he got out, Stark would have a new phone waiting for him, and Bucky would use that phone to buy things to put in his butt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [THIS is the Hitachi Magic Wand](https://hitachimagic.com/hitachi-magic-wand/magic-wand/?gclid=CjwKCAjwh9_bBRA_EiwApObaONvuEMKT8gTWnI8zjLEwdoF8YnzQ4gxnzWKE7zvZg-xp0M96I1e-ExoCvasQAvD_BwE). It's considered a "classic" sex toy, even though the Hitachi company no longer much likes to be associated with it. Some Magic Wands have lasted up to 27 years, so they're pretty well made. It's also one of the most intense vibrators available on the market, since it was not actually designed to be a sex toy. 
> 
> [This is the symphony recording](http://instrumentjokes.tumblr.com/post/37753831566/plasticteapot-yoccu-ennish) Bucky mentions, where the orchestra members all swap instruments and then attempt to play.


	2. House Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Please note that this chapter contains brief, non-graphic mentions of past sexual assault, a la Hydra Trash Party.

The overnight observation—quarantine, really—was an exercise in boredom. There were a few books in the containment room but nothing great, and he wasn't allowed visitors. So the extent of the social interaction he got for those hours was Steve's face in the door window looking like a dog left out in the rain. (That beautiful, ridiculous idiot.) Bucky tamped down several lines of thinking that would have surely led to his observers getting an eyeful. Eventually he boredomed himself to sleep, and dreamed of his friend—and that damn ooze-thing—in ways he'd never admit to by daylight. If he woke up hard, well, that was a normal enough bodily function that surely no one would mention it.  
  
He made it through the night without sprouting tentacles or turning gelatinous or any other bizarre side effects of his run-in, so they released him, and life resumed more or less as usual. Only now there was a bit more adventure in his private time. The first Hitachi attachment was a little too generously-proportioned, as it turned out, a bit too ambitious without the benefit of that slime. It wasn't that he couldn't take pain, but by god, where his butt was concerned, he shouldn't have to. Another internet search revealed a thing called a "training kit," so one of those soon became part of a private workout routine. Just like weight training, it gradually allowed him to take more and more, until finally he could take full advantage of that first attachment, and oh, what a time he had with it. It wasn't the same as the slime—it didn't reach as deep inside him and couldn't slither and twist on its own—but the combination of fullness and powerful vibrations kept Bucky in a very good mood indeed.

And wouldn't you know it, Steve was noticeably more upbeat, too. Even the other Avengers tiptoed around Bucky less than usual. It was...nice. Who'd've thought getting tentacle-fucked (he refused to use the "r" word here) by a probably-alien slime monster would have improved his life so much?  
  
Maybe he was getting a little too into it, though. More and more his thoughts turned to sex at random and sometimes inconvenient times. He'd find himself squirming in his chair at dinner, suddenly feeling a terrible, yearning emptiness in his ass and a desperate need tingling in his hole. He played it off as best he could whenever it happened, but more and more those around him started sneaking heated glances at him as if they could tell something was up.

And though Bucky tried to exercise self-restraint, he kept finding his thoughts…drifting. Thor’s biceps. Stark’s backside. Barton’s neck. Natasha’s hands. Steve’s—well, Steve’s everything. Bucky couldn’t stop himself from picturing how nice it would be to have various parts of Steve in his butt. The man had big hands now, and a big dick if any of Bucky’s memories from the War could be trusted. And a nice tongue. Mmm.  
  
Steve always looked at Bucky a lot, but he was starting to _Look_ at Bucky. Or maybe that was wishful thinking? All Bucky could think about was how much he’d like to take Steve to pound-town. Maybe Bucky was being a creep, like people were to Natasha in public when they went out together. Bucky tried to keep his eyes to himself, but with little success.

It was as if his prostate had an ‘on’ button, and the slime had very firmly pushed it, and now Bucky couldn’t figure out how to turn it back off. No matter how many times he button-mashed, so to speak, all he could feel was how much more he wanted. All he could think was how much more satisfying it would be if it were Steve’s cock. Or, when Bucky was feeling relatively indiscriminate, just about anyone’s. And Natasha had _such_ small hands. And Stark had a reputation, that couldn’t be for nothing, right?  
  
But maybe the insatiability was progress! Bucky's therapist had him working on wanting things, and now he wanted things (read: dicks) all the time. Non-stop. Before, even just having a single orgasm by himself had been a big deal. Now, having five orgasms in a day seemed like not enough. Which was probably a sign more of the Hydra drugs were draining out of his system and his super-powered libido was coming back online. Nice!

It was autumn, but everywhere felt hot. Morning runs had him drenched in sweat despite the chill of dawn. Every breeze was a moment of sweet relief. And it was just as bad inside. No matter how many times Bucky checked the thermostat, it always seemed reasonable, but that didn't change the _feel_ of—shit, was he running fever? It came and went, and there were no other symptoms; he could go to the med suite, but the thought of getting poked and prodded on an exam table by a doctor still made his blood run cold. (Thanks, Hydra.) Being overheated wasn't that bad. It just wasn't _good_ either.  
  
Finally, one night in the middle of the actual Avengers living room, Bucky caught himself starting to strip off his damn shirt because he was so sweaty. He'd gotten the shirt up around his neck when he realized he was being stared at.

...The hell was he doing? The start of team movie night was the worst time for both a not-gonna-call-it-a-fever and his ambitious libido to kick in. All eyes were on him, and there he was, tits out with his fucked-up shoulder out there for everyone to see too. Part of him wanted to die on the spot. Part of him found the attention sexy.  
  
"You feeling alright, Buck?" Steve asked, with his Worried Face on.  
  
"Is it just me or is it way too warm in here," Bucky mumbled, tugging the shirt down over his metal arm before pulling it the rest of the way back on.   
  
"It is kinda hot," Barton remarked.  
  
Stark had JARVIS take the room's temperature down as Barton rambled about movie selection. The air conditioning only helped a little. Several of the guys were already on Stark’s ridiculously huge couch, and Bucky suddenly found himself wanting to sit down. He took his usual spot to Steve's left, and found Stark close to his other side. Everybody else settled in on the great semicircle of couches, and Bucky tried to ignore everything but the screen as the opening credits finished and the movie began.  
  
_Tried_ being the operative term.

When Bucky looked again, Stark was sitting closer still, their thighs and shoulders touching.  
  
Bucky wasn’t listening to the film's dialog. Natasha watched him intently, and then Stark’s hand moved to Bucky’s thigh. It sat there, the palm searing through Bucky’s clothes. He wanted to tear his jeans off and for Stark to stuff several fingers up into him. Bucky wanted Natasha’s thighs around his face. He wanted…  
  
Bucky crossed his legs, resorting to what Stark called the Judge Dredd face. Bucky could do expressionless and vacant, and he could surreptitiously adjust his half-chub so it wasn’t so obvious. Hopefully. Maybe.

Steve was always kind of a space-heater, but his presence to Bucky's right seemed even warmer than usual. Onscreen the scene changed but Bucky couldn’t follow it. All he could smell was Stark’s cologne, Steve’s faintly-scented deodorant. Bucky caught himself wishing Steve hadn’t put any on so Bucky could bury his face in his armpit and huff like some sort of absolute weirdo.  
  
Sweat rolled down the sides of Bucky's face, dewing his upper lip and throat. The world…tilted, somehow, as though the building had leaned several degrees. It seemed to have dumped Steve against him, because when Bucky stopped feeling seasick, Steve was leaned over, Bucky’s hair brushing his shoulder. Steve let out a low groan, and Stark squeezed his grip on Bucky’s thigh.

"Did someone turn the heat up again?" Colonel Rhodes groused quietly. It sounded kind of distant.

Steve's fingers brushed Bucky's neck and left trails of fire across his skin. He glanced around: all eyes were on him again. The gathered Avengers sized him up like a meal—like they knew how wound up he was—all glassy eyes and bitten lips. Maybe he'd fallen asleep on the couch and this was a dream. That had to be it, right? They wouldn't look at him like that if it wasn't. He wouldn't be so on board with it if it wasn't. Surely.  
  
Stark inched his hand up like he was sly or something. Steve slung an arm around Bucky's shoulders and that was normal enough, except for the part where his fingertips were playing across Bucky's neck again. That half-chub was gonna be a full-blown problem soon.  
  
But if this was a dream, why hold back? Bucky clenched his ass around nothing, consumed by the thought of having something there—fuck, even _more than one_ something—and allowed himself to squirm.

The thumb of Stark’s hand reached Bucky’s dick. Bucky uncrossed his legs automatically, sweat rolling down his sides under his loose shirt. He had to be sweating down his back, too, because as he shifted he felt wet between his legs, slippery and warm. Stark’s hand wrapped easily around Bucky’s trapped cock where it lay against his hip. The hand squeezed and Bucky whimpered. That was nice but it wasn’t right, wasn’t what he wanted. He spread his legs, hooking the backs of his knees over Stark and Steve, and then Steve turned Bucky’s face and they were kissing.  
  
God Steve’s lips were soft. By the time Bucky noticed that Stark had moved between his legs and was unbuttoning his jeans, Bucky was panting breathless and humid against Steve’s cheek, head spinning with arousal.  
  
What a nice dream.

Stark had Bucky's pants off in record time, sliding them with practiced ease down Bucky’s legs along with his underwear. Bucky’s dick stood up straight from his crotch, glad to be freed. _Eager._ Before Bucky could even break away from Steve to ask for it, Stark had two fingers up inside Bucky, and _God_ it was easy. Bucky couldn’t believe he’d ever been anxious about this—about fucking himself, about sex. This was so easy and _damn_ did it feel good! No pain, no anxiety, just sweet smooth slide as Steve kissed and kissed him. Bucky’s hand fell on Steve's crotch and Steve was hard too, cock jumping against Bucky's palm.

It was high time for Bucky to get him some of that. It wouldn't be the first time it'd happened in a dream. Steve breathed his name and strained up into his hand, cupped his face and then his pecs. Thumbs brushed Bucky's nipples and his spine arched. The next thing he knew he was being divested of his shirt, finally, and Steve's hands were back to teasing his chest.  
  
That, too, was nice, but not quite what he wanted. His hips moved almost of their own accord for Stark's fingers. Two came out, and three went in. The stretch didn't hurt—it was painless just like all those websites said it should be. And yet Bucky needed more.  
  
He whimpered into Steve's mouth, and Steve murmured, "What do you need?" as if he didn't know.  
  
Of course Bucky tugged on Steve's dick, which was, outrageously, still clothed. "This. In me."

That Steve was dressed was offensive. A moral outrage. Clothes in general were offensive, Bucky decided. Everybody in the room should be naked. Maybe he said it out loud without realizing, because Barton had his pants off and chucked across the room a second later, Thor’s tits were very present and golden and perky, and Banner’s chest pelt made an appearance as well.  
  
While everybody else was distracted trying to get undressed, Bucky got Steve’s dick out, yanked him down the couch, and sat on his lap. The head—thick, reddish, wet—breached Bucky with absurd ease, like it was no more difficult than kissing. Steve, meanwhile, went absolutely bananas, writhing under Bucky and frantically trying to kiss like three parts of Bucky's face at once, hands grabbing at Bucky's shoulders and sides. Bucky ground down into his lap, dripping onto Steve’s jeans and grinning. Sex was great! Why had he ever been concerned? His therapist talked a lot about separating rational fears from irrational ones, and worrying about sex had clearly been irrational. So he’d been raped a few times, or maybe more than a few. So what? A few seconds of Bucky’s ass was turning Steve into a red-faced disaster. Bucky was gonna mock him for this later and it was gonna be great.  
  
“No fair, I was gonna call dibs on first fuck,” Stark complained, but all he did was move up behind Bucky and start pulling at his nipples and rubbing his dick against Bucky's back. Bucky rocked his hips down on Steve, relishing the sweet press of the corona against all his sensitive places, and felt like the king of the world.

There were more hands on him. Lips pressing open-mouthed kisses across his nape. It wasn't anything like those _other_ times, and Bucky wasn't having even a glimmer of flashback. The dream didn't spiral into a nightmare. There was only the heat coursing through his veins, the desperate need to get fucked, and the ecstasy of getting it. See, he could do this! He could have this. It was allowed.  
  
What's more, solo practice had taught Bucky the best angles for prostate pressure, so he worked that for all he was worth. Steve whispered a litany of praise along with his name...and oh, to hear his name spoken in breathy moans was as sharp a pleasure as Stark's clever hands teasing his chest. Bucky clenched and flexed. Clamping down made Steve's cock feel even broader than it was. And it made Steve make the most interesting noises, which Bucky also filed away for later teasing.  
  
Steve had never been a patient man, so it wasn't that big a surprise when he seized Bucky by the hips and started absolutely hammering up into him. Bucky's cock smacked against Steve's belly with each bounce. Just a little more, Bucky thought—little more and he could—  
  
Someone's hand wrapped around his length and he was done for.

 _“I WIN!”_ Bucky shouted, absurdly delighted with himself. Someone else laughed. Steve was, by the look of him, losing his damn mind, and when he came a few minutes later, all Bucky felt was fondness. He was really looking forward to getting used to fucking Steve, the awkward nugget.  
  
Stark, being his usual impatient self, gave them no time for afterglow. He pulled Bucky up off Steve’s lap but Bucky went readily, bending over and bracing his arms on the back of the couch. It occurred to him then that he was normally self-conscious about all the scarring around his arm, but that seemed silly now. Clearly another irrational fear.

Stark slipped in just as easy as Steve had—easier, because Stark was both shorter than Steve in terms of height and smaller than him in other ways—and _damn_ did it still feel good. It became rapidly apparent, too, that some of Stark’s boasts of being a playboy were more than just show. He nudged Bucky’s hips up and back, making him curve his spine up, and then just hammered away at Bucky’s prostate. Stark hit it coming and going, a feat Bucky had heard about once online but figured was nonsense. It was clearly not nonsense, it was genius, as Stark would probably say.  
  
Thor slipped onto the couch in front of Bucky, kissing him so their facial hair caught on each other. Bucky half felt this orgasm in his mouth, as though the sensation got partially transported forward, and wasn't _that_ a bit of fun. Thor rubbed the resulting mess into his own thighs, grinning.

He reached down between Thor's thighs to grab his—  
  
For a moment Bucky's brain was full of static, because what he was looking at didn't make any sense. Then he remembered: Thor was literally an alien god. Apparently he just _mostly_ looked human, and there was at least one major place where he really, really didn't.  
  
Well whatever, it was long and thick and it was going up Bucky's ass. The nubby parts especially were gonna feel awesome. They kissed, Bucky stroked, Thor groaned, and Stark pounded away and everything was exquisite. No hard feelings between them, just hard cocks. They should do team bonding like this all the time. A flicker of guilt shot through Bucky at that, though—shouldn't he just be _Steve's,_ if he was anyone's at all?—but everyone was on board here, including Steve, it seemed, so it had to be alright. And this was just a dream anyway.  
  
Stark lasted a fairly impressive amount of time for a guy his age, and when he came inside Bucky, that felt great too. But still Bucky's hunger wasn't sated. He squeezed the strange thing that he really just assumed was Thor's cock and gave the guy a drunken, shit-eating grin that said: _You're up._

Stark was THE team showboat, but only because Thor was often out of town. When Stark withdrew with a laugh and a tender kiss to Bucky’s nape, Thor stood up. He was taller than Bucky, a rarity these days, and broader than him, which was even stranger still. Even Steve was only Bucky’s equal. So when Thor guided Bucky’s arms around his neck and then leaned down and grabbed Bucky’s thighs around the backs, Bucky knew Thor was showing off. Bucky really, really didn’t mind.

Someone—Steve maybe?—reached between them and guided Thor’s whatever-it-was into the right place, and... _damn_. 

“Points for originality,” Bucky wheezed. Thor just flexed his arms and lifted Bucky off his genital-of-whatever-title and yep, withdrawal was just as intense as getting it in.

Bucky had previously worried he’d make stupid noises during sex. He'd worried he’d sound monotone and bored, or that his voice would go creaky-breaky like he was in puberty again, or that he’d somehow be both too quiet and too loud at the same time. But getting his asshole seen to by something that more closely resembled modern art than a recognizable human organ made concerns about vocal performance go right out the window. Was he coming again? Bucky couldn’t tell. Maybe he’d never really stopped, and the sensations had just rolled and shifted like Thor’s hips.

Bucky’s skin had a pinkish-pearlescent sheen, he noticed, and it was rubbing off onto Thor’s chest and arms. Gosh, that was pretty.

The whole Thor package head-to-foot was just—really nice. Bucky wasn't sure why he hadn't noticed before. Must have been his broken libido. Well, it was clearly fixed now! He could see why Thor was called the God of Thunder, because every thrust was a bit like getting hit by lightning. Bucky's entire passage was alight with pleasure so intense he shivered with it. There were moments here and there when he only kept hold around Thor's neck by the grace of his metal arm, which had the advantage of not getting shaky or clammy like his biological one. At some point Bucky just laid his head down on one of the Asgardian's ridiculous shoulders and let him do the work until Bucky recovered enough to actively participate again.   
  
There was something comforting about being held so effortlessly. Something reassuring about not being the strongest one in the room. Not when the others were looking out for him. They were all so very nice, seeing to his needs like this.  
  
Thor coming was...also a new experience. There was enough force of pressure there that Bucky could actually feel it happening rather than just the goopy results. Bucky maybe made an embarrassing noise about it, but Thor just chuckled and kissed his face, rocking gently until he retracted enough to slip out.

There was no spillage. That was curious but unimportant. What was _important_ was getting filled back up.

Bucky imagined taking Steve to the MoMA so they could giggle at the sculptures there and rate them by similarity to Thor’s genital. Which was now completely gone, Bucky noted, retracted like it had never been there, leaving only a cute little slit. So that was fun. But even more fun was the fact that Barton and Banner were clustered around Bucky, both of them hard and smiling.  
  
A distant memory of something about Banner in a sexual context made a worry-line form briefly between Bucky’s eyebrows. But this was a lucid dream, and gosh, what a nice one. Normally Bucky had nightmares, brutal things that made him afraid of sleep, but this was so good. It was something new he could tell his therapist and Bucky looked forward to that. It was always a relief to have good news to bring her, and she'd been so concerned after his encounter with the slime.  
  
Banner lay himself out on the couch, beckoning Bucky down, and Bucky went, kneeling over Banner’s hips. Banner had a nice dick, slender and pretty and pinkish-red, and wouldn’t you know it, it felt just as nice as it looked. Banner’s eyes were green, bright green, which Bucky had never noticed before, and his face was soft and delighted and he was smiling. Gosh, it was nice to have sex with someone while they smiled.  
  
The couch dipped behind them and Barton’s hand wrapped around Bucky to get at his dick. Bucky’s brain scrambled, because the sensation went from Nice And I Might Orgasm Soon to I Am Orgasming Right Now. When the paroxysms passed, it still several seconds to parse what Barton had actually said.  
  
“Think you got room for one more?”

Bucky hesitated on answering and spent his silence circling his hips in ways that had Bruce groaning and grabbing at the couch. Bucky did a bit of fuzzy math. Steve and Thor were both pretty big, so he was nicely stretched. Banner's cock was on the thin side. He peered over his shoulder to see what Barton was packing, and it wasn't a monster dong—more on the nice side of average. Bucky's ass lit up with want, ironically clamping down a little harder. Yeah, he had room for one more.  
  
The funny thing about it was that the one time he had tried to watch porn of someone taking two dicks at once, it hadn't gone over very well. But now that he had the option of trying it out himself it seemed infinitely more appealing. So Bucky leaned forward, hands braced on either side of Banner's sex-drunk face, and jerked his head at Barton as a come-hither.

"Start slow." 

Barton obeyed, but it turned out that this was easier than Bucky ever would have imagined. Easier, and better. His body throbbed triumph and pride, and when the two men inside him started moving so their cocks slid in and out of him in counterpoint, Bucky lost all sense of time and place. Fuck, he'd try to fit _three_ if that wouldn't be a logistical nightmare. For once he didn't even bother chastising himself for being greedy.

“I rule,” Bucky mumbled to himself against Banner’s collarbone, and Banner laughed, a warm rumble that just rubbed Bucky’s dick between them.  
  
Which was when Bucky noticed Sam, seated on the arm of the couch nearby and stroking himself in time with Barton’s tempo. Masturbation seemed like a waste, Bucky thought, especially since Sam had a cute dick too, short and thick. So Bucky waved him over with one hand and tapped at his mouth to indicate what he wanted.  
  
“Just don’t expect me to get fancy,” Bucky told him. “I’m kinda distracted here.” Below him, Banner laughed again.  
  
“Seems fair,” Sam chuckled, and his palm was soft on the underside of Bucky’s chin as he tilted Bucky's face to the right angle and slipped into his mouth. “Just smack my thigh if you need anything.”  
  
Bucky groaned his encouragement.

This, this was glorious. All those years of being used as a weapon and a plaything and now finally Bucky was the center of his own damn universe. Suck it, Hydra! He was still overheated but he didn't even care about that anymore because the whole room was honed in on his pleasure. Barton sped up, grappling his sides and filling him deliciously, and Sam kept pace with him. The weight of a cock on Bucky's tongue was the perfect complement to the stretch of the cocks in his ass. They fit so perfectly inside him, all of them did. Every last one was tailor-made to keep him on cloud nine.  
  
"I'm not gonna last," Banner sighed, and as perfect as this was, that was okay. It was just nice that this had happened at all. And sure enough, a few minutes later Bucky had his lips wrapped around the very root of Sam's cock when Banner tensed and bucked and gasped, and then there was more glorious wet warmth inside. Banner lay still and idly played with Bucky's nipple and cock instead of pulling out. As soon as he was too soft to stay inside, Bucky lifted his hips up to give Barton room to really move. His cock sank deeper into Bucky now that Barton wasn't competing for space, and Bucky whined around his mouthful of Sam. He wanted a taste. He'd never tasted someone who wasn't Hydra, and Bucky found himself curious whether it would be different. He also wanted to come again—and how many times had he gone off already? He was hard in Banner's hand and another whiteout waited just on the horizon. Bucky clamped down, trying to make Barton feel bigger, and he groaned his encouragement as Sam gave him a magnificent face-fucking.

It just felt so good!  _All_ of it felt so good. Bucky was used to his body feeling bad, mostly. Tense and shaky at best, painful where the prosthetic pulled at his ribs and spine always. Food, at least, was a reliable pleasure. He was teaching himself to cook, because if he had to have the supersoldier metabolism, then he was determined to have a super gourmet diet to go with it. And cooking was a lot nicer than killing. Steve enjoyed it, the other Avengers enjoyed it whenever they dropped in, and Sam always complimented Bucky for it, which made him blush.  
  
But this dream— _everything_ just felt good! The feel of all of Banner’s body hair against Bucky’s hairless torso felt delicious. Sam’s cock smelled and tasted good, as he’d obviously showered that morning, and his hands on Bucky’s face and neck were so gentle even as his hips snapped forward. And Barton—the tight grip of his fingers in the sensitive skin at the fold of Bucky’s hips kept slipping in Bucky’s sweat, but that felt good too. And that was to say nothing of the bright, dense feeling of being fucked, and fucked, and fucked.  
  
Bucky’s hand left glittering streaks on Sam’s leg where Bucky sweated on him. In this dream even his sweat was pretty.

The faintly-colored sheen reminded him of something but he couldn't place what. It didn't matter. Banner rubbed a thumb against the slit of Bucky's dick and he was spilling again, eyes squeezing shut as he shook. Both the men fucking him groaned: his orgasm made his ass tighten and his throat convulse. He drifted through another scintillating afterglow and when the world came back into focus, he was still getting it hard from both ends.

By now he should have been exhausted but Bucky felt like he could go for days.  
  
A few more hard sucks and Sam warned him, "Gonna come soon. Better ease off if you don't wanna catch."  
  
Like hell was Bucky easing off. He sealed his mouth around the base of Sam's cock instead, wriggling his tongue, and was rewarded by Sam tilting his head back and coming with a cry. Turned out he did taste better than Hydra, sweeter somehow, and Bucky swallowed with a triumphant groan. Sam cupped his jaw with one hand and petted his sweaty hair with the other as he pulled out, crooning encouragement at him.  
  
Bucky mentally congratulated Barton on lasting the longest of the three. Their hips slapped together harder than ever. Bucky caught himself whispering "Do it, do it, come in my ass," and would have been mortified but instead Barton obeyed, grinding into him hard and settling there for a long, blissful moment.

Colonel Rhodes, Stark’s handsome friend, insinuated himself shyly to Bucky’s right. Bucky just grinned up at him as he pushed up off Banner and gestured Barton out of the way so Bucky could flop back onto the other side of the couch. Steve seated himself just beside Bucky’s head, combing his fingers through Bucky’s damp hair. Gosh, Bucky loved Steve. What a stand-up guy, from his dopey Labrador face to his curled toes, all clamped up like he was bashful. He smiled down at Bucky as Bucky spread his legs and invited Rhodes to come on in.  
  
The Colonel did so, smooth and polite. His cock had a graceful upward curve, and that felt every bit as nice as it looked. Bucky gave the Colonel an approving double thumbs-up, grinning his satisfaction.  
  
Then Natasha appeared to Bucky’s side, breasts looking soft and vulnerable. One corner of her mouth quirked up along with one eyebrow as she looked down at Bucky, leaning her weight on one hip. Her expression was a question: _Are you ready for this?_  
  
“I got some prime real estate here on my face,” Bucky told her with a smile. It was a relief to think that she’d forgiven him for everything he’d done, that she liked him enough to have _anything_ to do with him, much less this. The scars on her belly and collarbone were very present, even in this happy dream. But so was her look of approval, and Steve offered her a balancing hand as she climbed up onto the couch around Bucky’s head and settled her hips down onto him.  
  
It was warm and quiet between her thighs, and she was wet like Bucky. When he set himself to licking, the taste of her reminded Bucky a little bit of miso.

This task required a little more thought than the others had, though. He couldn't get away with just riding the moment. He started her off licking a firm stripe up her folds from back to front, and she inhaled sharply so he did it again. When he moved on to seeking out her clit with his tongue and sucking it between his lips she gasped. When Bucky tried spelling out the Cyrillic alphabet against her, Ж got a great reaction: thighs clamping around his head and wetness against his chin. He repeated that letter over and over until she shuddered, cried out quietly, and drenched Bucky's chin and throat. From there it was a game of going back and forth between tongue-fucking her and lavishing attention on her clit, hands cupping the soft-padded muscle of her rump.  
  
Rhodes was a joy between his legs. The Colonel was unhurried and filled him deep, pulling out until only his glans remained in the wet mess and then driving back in, making Bucky feel every inch. Between the curve of Rhodes' cock and the position they used, each thrust rubbed a long, firm line up and down Bucky's prostate. He opened his legs wider. He wanted more, but he didn't want to move enough to say it. But as if Bucky had willed it into being, a sudden stretch took him by surprise: someone, maybe Rhodes, maybe Stark, who knew, had slipped a finger in alongside Rhodes' cock—and then a second—and the pleasure it sent through Bucky make him mewl into Natasha's sex.

By this point—and Bucky had never, ever thought he’d think this—orgasm felt almost immaterial. It _all felt good._ It was all satisfying and yet he still wanted more anyway, and he’d already come so many times that when he came again—and again—on the Colonel, Bucky was coming dry, no more than a ripple of response that barely subsided at all.  
  
The fingers inside him crooked up, not just stroking his prostate but pressing into it, a direct and unavoidable pleasure. Bucky’s thighs shook, heels jolting where they rested against Rhodes’ chest. Natasha took Bucky’s distraction as a cue to rub herself on his face, grinding her clit down onto his mouth and chin. The particular smell of her ejaculate filled the whole space until Bucky felt as though he would drown in it.  
  
When Rhodes finally came and then withdrew, Natasha came again a moment later and then pulled herself away with a sigh of satisfaction. Bucky gasped in air, dizzy in the sudden change of light and sound.  
  
“Now that the guys have gotten you ready,” she smirked, “you should be able to take me easy.”

Blinking muzzily at her, Bucky wasn’t very certain what she meant, but he didn’t much care. This was a happy dream, everything felt good, and the team all looked relaxed. It wasn’t till Natasha seated herself between Bucky’s wobbly legs and slipped in with all four fingers at once that Bucky grasped her intention.

“Oh,” he blinked, and Steve’s hand on his chest tightened, squeezing just below where the metal began. “Oh, wow. Okay. Hell yes.”  
  
This was another thing he’d read about online, but at the time it had sounded…well, it had sounded awful, really. It was the kind of extreme, horrific thing that Hydra would do as a way to terrorize or damage prisoners, not something Bucky could imagine anyone doing with someone they cared about. The descriptions from people who’d tried it hadn't made it sound like violence, but…well…

But Natasha had such small hands, and Bucky was so wet and so open. Four fingers just felt dreamy, the pads of her fingers delicate on his prostate. When she tucked her thumb, Bucky couldn’t even tell the difference, not with Steve stroking over his throat and murmuring sweet nonsense at him about how pretty he looked. Bucky felt the full width of the base of her thumb as she eased it gently back and forth, but when it slid through it was no more than a brief stretch and intense pressure before she settled inside him.  
  
Bucky immediately decided he had changed his mind about fisting. This was his new favorite thing, aside from everything else in this dream, which were _also_ his favorite things. The immovable hardness of the bones of Natasha's hand pressed just right into his prostate, and he finally, _finally_ felt full.

Everything after that kind of…blurred. Steve wound up in his mouth, which was delicious even if he couldn’t get so deep as Sam had because of the angle. It just meant Bucky didn’t have to be as careful with his breathing, which in turn meant he could whimper and make all the noise he wanted.  
  
At some point, Bucky’s dick went soft. He only noticed because Natasha remarked on it. The sensations didn’t change much, her fist was still ruling his entire world beyond the dick in his mouth and the sight of Steve’s face enraptured and sweet.  
  
When she finally pulled out, Thor took her place. After him, Bucky got onto shaking legs to allow for Steve and Sam together, and wasn’t _that_ just a dream. Then came Rhodes and Stark, who kissed each other around Bucky’s side, and that made Bucky giggle and smile. Banner was every bit as polite in Bucky’s mouth as he had been in his backside, and Barton came faster this time after Rhodes finished. Bucky got hard again, soft again, and didn’t bother to keep track after the second time it happened.  
  
Finally, everyone seemed…done. Bucky was too tired to squirm or beg, and though his ass still pulsed with sensation, ready for more, Bucky felt content to let them be. Everyone lay lax and sweaty on the furniture. They were kissing and laughing and talking in quiet voices, and Steve lay curled around Bucky’s side, nuzzling into his cheek and mumbling about how happy he was. Bucky turned to kiss him, as slow and sticky and soft as all of Bucky’s daydreams about him.  
  
Then Bucky blinked, turning away from Steve’s face. Lifting his head felt less good, but it meant he could really look at himself. He was still kind of...glistening, a pinkish sheen all over him that made him look almost pearlescent. But when he rubbed his forearm onto the couch, the skin underneath was normal. That was strange. Peering around the room, Bucky spotted smears of the same tint on everyone present. Also strange. He supposed he'd rubbed off on them in more ways than one, and giggled at the thought.  
  
Strange, too, was the lack of seepage from his thoroughly-plundered ass. As stretched out as he'd gotten during everything, surely he should have been leaking come. Curious, Bucky reached down to swirl a fingertip across his own hole. It was soft, slick, and only mostly sated, but when he pulled his hand back up to look it was only wet with what looked like normal lube (and when had anyone used lube?). It, too, was tinted the same faint pink.  
  
"Feeling alright, Buck?" Steve asked him softly.  
  
"Yeah," Bucky murmured back, relaxing against Steve and letting his curiosity go. "Just waiting to wake up now, I guess."  
  
Steve was silent for a moment. "...What do you mean wake up?"

Bucky laughed, feeling magnanimous. “This is a good dream, sweetheart. But I’m gonna wake up soon.” He kissed Steve again, a long slow press of their mouths together. He’d miss this when it went away again.  
  
When they parted, though, Steve’s brow wrinkled. “If you’re dreaming this, then why am I dreaming it too?”  
  
That stumped Bucky, but maybe lucid dreams always got weird at the end. It wasn’t as if he’d know. Maybe something about passing into a different stage of the sleep cycle accounted for the shift.  
  
Somewhere across the room, Barton said, a little too loud, “Dude, Thor, has your junk always been like that? Because that whole ‘not really human’ thing kinda seemed like a joke till now. Not that I’m not into it, but—”  
  
At that, Stark sat straight up from making out with Banner and Rhodes and said, “Wait, what? Barton, what the fuck are you—oh my _God,_ Thor, what even! How have you never told me about this!”  
  
Bucky, who’d gotten the up-close-and-personal experience of Thor’s unusual business, just smiled.

"The Realms are vast and varied, my friends," Thor's amused voice boomed from another couch, "as is life among them. Is it so surprising that, for all we share in common, there are still differences between us? Your far inferior physical capabilities and technology aside."  
  
Stark squawked at the technology remark. The squabbling remained good-natured, though, and Bucky let it become background noise.  
  
Moments or minutes later, Steve nudged him. "Hey. Wanna go wash up? And maybe we could..." He faltered and went red in the face. It was adorable. Bucky waited for him to finish. "...I was thinking, uh, maybe we could. Take a nap? Together? If, I mean, if you want to."  
  
Bucky just stared at him. One, he was already asleep, but whatever. Two, _Mary Mother of God,_ Steven Grant Rogers was blushing and stammering over the idea of them  _taking a nap_ together as if they hadn't just been involved in an epic orgy. Bucky shook his head a little and kissed Steve's stupid face. "That sounds good. Lukewarm shower, though, I'm burning up."  
  
The look of abject relief on Steve's face was even better than kisses. "Oh thank God, I was hoping you'd say that."

They waded their way through their teammates together and wound up making out in the shower. They also ended up fucking in the shower, because, well. They were already naked, and Bucky was still wet and open and Steve apparently wasn’t having any trouble getting hard again either. By the time they finished, Bucky’s cock was still soft and his knees were shaking so badly he could barely stand.  
  
Steve carried him to the bed, which was an indulgence Bucky quietly thanked his subconscious for including in this whole adventure. When they got into bed, Steve’s hand wandered Bucky’s back before winding up between his legs again for one final climax. Afterward, Steve brought his fingers up to his mouth and sucked them clean, which was a little gross, but whatever, it was a dream.  
  
“You taste like Natasha,” Steve said, surprised. Bucky barely even had the energy to look confused before Steve explained, “You, uh, your whole face. After she sat on you. I kinda got the taste experience secondhand.”

Bucky snorted into the pillows, and fell asleep with Steve curled around his back.


	3. A Wake-Up Call and a Happy Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: This chapter contains a brief but fairly graphic depiction of a panic attack/flashback, and the aforementioned 'soft' body horror. If parasites leaving the body the way they came in isn't your jam, maybe skip that section.

Bucky woke to a loud noise, the metal arm’s plates calibrating for combat. He scanned the room for intruders, then rolled into a crouch beside the bed. He didn’t have any knives, where were his knives—  
  
Part of his brain took in Steve blinking among the covers when JARVIS spoke from the ceiling.  
  
“I apologize for waking you, Mister Barnes, but an urgent missive has come from SHIELD headquarters that seems relevant to you. There have been four separate reports from the other people captured by the slime creature you encountered several weeks ago—all with stories like what happened here at the Tower today.”

Bucky held very, very still. JARVIS might have said something else but all of a sudden he couldn't hear anything over the thundering of his own pulse. The information was right there, but his mind was doing its solid best to reject it utterly.  
  
The room was warm, even on his bare skin, but his insides had all gone cold.  
  
Speaking took a mountain-moving effort, if only because he did not want to say the words. He swallowed a lump in his throat and said them anyway. They came out in a stunned monotone.

"What do you mean, like what happened here today."  
  
"Between approximately 3:23 PM and 6:50 PM," JARVIS' patient and almost apologetic voice explained, "the attendees of the recurring Avengers movie night calendar event engaged in intercourse. I can assure you there are no surveillance recordings of the event, as per my discretion protocols."  
  
Bucky's vision narrowed. It was hard to breathe. "What—"  
  
"While under most circumstances I am programmed not to mention details of encounters of this nature, there are some aspects that match these other reports. All five events began without prior planning and corresponded to the previously captured individual experiencing fever-like symptoms. In these additional reports, the majority of those involved in each incident reported no prior interest in the...central figure of the events."  
  
Bucky had been sweating it out for days. In the dream he'd been burning up. It was still a little too warm. And how many of the Avengers had ever made eyes at him before today? Steve, maybe, but all the others....  
  
"So...that really..." Bucky collapsed onto his ass, which then revealed itself to be pleasantly sore.

Okay, first off, deep breaths. This didn't have to turn into a whole big Thing. He didn't have to freak out. Everyone had been on board at the time. No one did anything they didn't want to do, right? _Bring it in, Barnes, five things you can see._ Carpet. Night stand. Bed. Steve, sleepy and confused— _fuck._

Bucky saw the exact moment Steve woke up all the way and two and two together because his eyes went wide. Bucky didn’t want to see what Steve would look like next, so he straightened and walked out of the room.  
  
“Bucky—" Steve called from the bedroom, but Bucky kept right on walking. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t handle having hurt Steve again. At least no one had been injured this time…Did that make it better? Or was this _worse_ than shooting and beating Steve half to death?  
  
_Well_ , Bucky thought as he marched into his room and locked the door against the pounding of Steve’s feet down the hall, _at least I will have something new to tell my therapist after all._  
  
The knob rattled, and Steve knocked hard on the wood.  
  
“Bucky, please let me in,” he pleaded, and Bucky went over to his dresser and started pulling on clothes. He didn’t want to be naked anymore. Outside, Steve quietly asked, “JARVIS, have you informed the others yet?”  
  
“I informed them at the same time I told you.”  
  
“Are they all still in the building?”  
  
“Yes.”

A loose hoodie on top of a henley and gloves, underwear, jeans, and socks all made Bucky feel much too hot. His skin prickled under all the clothes. His asscheeks still slid against each other, wet with his own juices. Bucky shuddered, disgusted but unwilling to touch himself enough to even clean it up.  
  
“JARVIS, how soon can we arrange to have another SHIELD-class hazmat vehicle here to pick me up?” he asked. He needed to get away from Steve and the others before he caused another incident.  
  
“I’m calling SHIELD now,” JARVIS responded, and Steve rapped on the door again.  
  
“Buck, please, let me in,” Steve repeated, his voice low.

The pink haze, Bucky remembered. That had to be it. That thing on Staten Island had done something to him to keep him calm while it fucked him. It must have left something behind, too, something with an incubation period. Something that made him horny beyond all measure, then made him sweat out...pheromones again, maybe. Not to calm this time but to attract others. But _why?_   What was the point of making random people fuck each other?  
  
_Any of them could have refused,_ Bucky told himself.  
  
_They were all effectively drugged,_ he retorted back at himself.  
  
_So that means it's no one's fault_ , the too-small part of his brain that was reasonable pointed out. That part sounded a lot like his therapist these days.  
  
But he still hovered near the locked door and said, "Steve, I'm sorry. I...I had no idea this would happen."  
  
"There's no way you could have," Steve told him gently. He sounded like he was pressed right up against the door. Knowing him, that's probably exactly what he was doing. "Do you regret it?"  
  
Bucky opened his mouth to say yes but stopped short. Did he? It's not like he hadn't noticed the Avengers were an attractive bunch. Though now he had his doubts about how much of that noticing was because of the slime monster's after-effects. When he'd thought it was a dream, he'd welcomed all of them into his body. But again, how much of that was the...infection, for want of a better word?  
  
And then there was Steve. Bucky's whole chest ached when the realization really sank in that he'd _finally_ gotten to make love to Steve...and it had all been a chemical roofie job. He shook his head as if Steve could see it.  
  
"I don't know. Do you?"

“I haven’t seen you that happy in most of a century,” Steve replied, and Bucky sat down heavily on the bed. “I know we’ve kind of been, uh. Dancing around each other. I was trying not to push, y’know? I don’t know if you even remember, but we only talked about it during the War. Being...being more than friends.”  
  
“I…I remember,” Bucky mumbled, half to himself, but he knew Steve would hear. Supersoldier hearing was no joke.  
  
“Yeah, that was on me,” Steve admitted, with a sliding noise that was probably him moving his hand over the door. “I said I wasn’t ready to commit to anything in the middle of all the combat. I thought all the pressure might cloud our judgement or something. I said the same thing to Peggy, too. It all seems very stupid now.”  
  
Bucky remembered thinking that at the time, but said nothing. He’d been no better; before the War he’d been too scared to confess his feelings to Steve for fear it would make Steve hate him, and then Steve would have had nobody when he inevitably died young.  
  
“Well if this was me having my judgment very clouded in a real way,” Steve began, and Bucky’s heart all but stopped in his chest as he waited for the hammerfall. “It doesn’t seem all that different from what I want all the time anyway. Right now, all I can think is that it finally made me honest.”  
  
Bucky stared at the wall. He must have heard wrong.  
  
“What?” he said, because Steve could _not_ have just said what he said.  
  
“The team is hot,” Steve said, like _that_ was the relevant thing to address. “And I’m wildly in love with you. Have been for a very long time. Will you please let me in?”

The only protest Bucky could muster to that was he didn't especially want Steve to see him cry, and if he opened that door, that was exactly what was going to happen.  
  
In the shower, Bucky realized, he'd already rinsed off the pink shimmery sweat when Steve fucked him that last time. So that one, at least, had been all them.  
  
Bucky bit his lip and went to open the door. Steve's face lifted from trepidation to fragile, blossoming hope, as if Bucky held his very beating heart in his hand. It was like watching the sky grow light before dawn.  
  
"For the record," Bucky told him, "we are both goddamn idiots." He reached for Steve, who collapsed into him, onto him: strong arms dragged Bucky close in a bone-crushing hug, then eased up so Steve could cup Bucky's face with both hands and kiss him breathless. And yeah, sure enough, that's when the waterworks started.  
  
"I've loved you longer than my memory goes back," Bucky sighed into his best friend's mouth.

They murmured each other's names and just held each other in the doorway for a good long while.  
  
Bucky was the one to step back, eventually. He sniffed and wiped tears off his face. "We're not gonna get away with just not talking about it with the others, are we."  
  
"What, about us being together, or...?"  
  
Bucky made a face. "That too? I mean. Being queer is legal and all now, and I'm pretty sure everyone's been talking about us being an item behind our backs anyway." ('Pretty sure,' as if they could be so lucky—Bucky had learned a lot by going against common wisdom and Googling himself. A whole bunch of conservative pundits were going to have aneurysms if this ever went public, as they'd spent decades decrying the people who believed that Steve and himself had been more than friends.) "I don't really care if your friends know about that, but...but the whole, uh...orgy...thing. That's their business too."  
  
Steve sighed through his nose and took a half-step back himself. Didn't take his hands off Bucky, though.

"No time like the present."

“Ugh,” Bucky said, with great feeling. “I don’t suppose we can just elope and never see them again?” In the seconds that followed he thought about being embarrassed by the fact that he’d just sort of proposed to Steve, but what was the point? He’d just fucked every single one of Steve’s coworkers in front of him. And besides, all Steve did was snort and then look down at himself.  
  
“I should maybe put on some pants,” he declared, and while Bucky disagreed, he supposed whatever happened next _was_ a conversation that merited trousers. When Steve emerged with a shirt on too, Bucky just tried not to ogle Steve’s tits too obviously as they strained the fabric.

(Maybe there was still some of whatever-that-was in his system? Or maybe not, since he’d been ogling Steve’s tits ever since coming in from the cold.)  
  
JARVIS directed them to the rest of the team, who had also dressed themselves and were gathered in the common area. Stark was eyeballing the couch, arms crossed over his chest, and when Bucky looked that way, he could see why. It was stained several places with what was probably Bucky’s semen, not to mention Natasha's ejaculate. Probably also his…whatever was coming out of his ass a little bit even now. He still felt loose. And there were pink smears everywhere.   
  
“So,” Steve began when they walked in. Bruce went bright red and then sat down with his legs crossed in what looked like some sort of meditation exercise. Natasha was blank-faced, Barton’s leg was jigging where he sat at the big dining table, Sam just rolled his eyes, Rhodes was standing beside Stark looking awkward, and Thor was the only one who seemed calm.  
  
“That happened,” Steve went on. “It seems like it's some sort of long-term result of the slime creature we fought a couple weeks ago. Also Bucky and I are dating now.”

"You weren't before?" Barton blinked. Steve opened his mouth, closed it, and drew his lips in.  
  
"Congratulations are in order!" Thor called, loud and chipper as ever. "Truly fate smiles on shieldbrothers whose bond extends to the bedchamber as well."  
  
Bucky squinted at him. "Thanks...?"  
  
"Mazel tov. That's been a long time in coming. So," Stark clapped his hands together and looked around the room at anything and everything except Bucky. "Not an isolated incident, apparently! Nice to know. Condolences or congratulations to the other orgy groups as appropriate. Um, big question: do we expect this to happen again? Because if this is gonna be a Thing we really need to contain it."  
  
Bucky hunched his shoulders and rubbed at the seam of his arm. Sweat dripped down his chest under his shirt. "Well I'm not sure, it's my first time getting infected with gangbang pheromones from a giant slime monster." He couldn't keep _all_ of the snideness out of his voice.  
  
Stark gestured at him. "Obviously we need to quarantine you. Full body scan, blood panel, the works."  
  
Steve's shoulders and chest came up like an angry bird puffing its feathers. "Tony—"  
  
"No, he's right," Bucky sighed, bumping Steve's side with his own. "I can't go out in public until we know it's safe. It's one thing for it to happen with you guys. I...I trust you guys." ( _Some more than others,_ he added silently.) "I don't want that happening with strangers, I, I can't." Steve rubbed his back while he gathered his thoughts. "I've been feeling uh. Overheated, more and more since the attack. It was worst right before we...y'know. It's not as bad now, so we maybe have some time."

“A SHIELD hazmat vehicle is already on the way,” Steve told the room. “We should all go, since we’ve all clearly been exposed, and we should get SHIELD to take care of the furniture in here as well.”  
  
This got a lot of grumbling but no outright protest. When the small quinjet landed on the roof a few minutes later, the team filed into it in awkward silence. Barton seated himself near Bucky and Steve, who sat holding hands.  
  
“So that was fun,” Barton informed them. “I’ve done way worse things while under the influence than having really nice sex with my hot teammates. So I’m just saying for the record that if we get locked up in quarantine together before they figure out how to stop this, I’m down for round two.”  
  
Bucky tried to stop himself from going red, failed, and finally just said, “Uh, thanks. I appreciate it.”  
  
“No, _I_ appreciate it,” Barton grinned, waggling his eyebrows. “Seriously, that was great. We could do it again anytime you like, even pheromone-free.”  
  
Steve snorted, and Bucky glanced over at him to see if being propositioned by another man would upset Steve. But Steve just shook his head and smiled before leaning over to kiss Bucky briefly on the mouth again.  
  
SHIELD medical techs in more hazmat suits escorted everyone into the facility. There was a brief attempt to get Bucky to come alone for testing, but all it took was one moment of tense silence before Steve nixed that idea. Nobody liked disagreeing with Captain America (even those well aware he’d just fucked another major historical figure within the last six hours) so the techs allowed Steve into the chamber with the CAT scanner in it. For obvious reasons, Bucky couldn’t be given an MRI, as nobody was sure if it'd rip the arm right off him.

They confirmed pretty easily that he was running hot. Bucky could have told them that himself. The annoyance of having it proven was overshadowed by his wonderment over the fact that all they had to do was hold a scanner to his head. Moments like that reminded him of how awesome the future could really be.  
  
The CAT scan was no damn fun, though. His heart kicked up the pace from the moment he saw the machine. This was going to be bad. Deep breaths. In his head he listed off five things he could see, then four he could hear, three he could feel, two he could smell, one he could taste. The bed slid him into the chamber and he was shrouded by a white mechanical coffin. Deep breaths. In, hold, out, hold, in, hold, out, nope nope _nope_ something hissed and he was cold and couldn't see and they were putting him away again, he was gonna wake up years later shivering ice crystals tearing at his muscles from the inside and he couldn't do this—  
  
"That's enough! Shut it down, get him out of there now!" a familiar voice boomed from somewhere outside the tank. Steve?  
  
The bed slid back out and as soon as Bucky could see the ceiling again he was being gathered up in arms that felt safe, held shivering to a chest that smelled like a home he could almost remember.

"Don't wanna go back in the ice," he whimpered.  
  
He was held and petted and murmured to while his mind went wild. Slowly, achingly, he came back to himself. As soon as he had a sense of where he was again his face burned with embarrassment. But when he tried to say anything, Steve interrupted.

"Don't apologize, it was a bad idea," Steve soothed. "We'll find another way."  
  
Another way, as it turned out, was pretty shitty too, because it involved blood draws and a pelvic exam. Steve was there to hold his hand through it, at least. The pelvic exam was where things got weird. Or more weird than they were already anyway.  
  
"There's a...lining of sorts here," the medical tech checking out Bucky's party hole with a speculum explained. She used the kind of tone that people use when they're freaked out but trying not to show it. That was not encouraging. "I'm going to take a sample of this."

The sample-taking was, as it turned out, not as bad as Bucky feared. He’d imagined scalpels and cauterization, but they just scraped the site a little bit. Didn’t feel great, but at least he wasn’t smelling whatever burnt butthole smelled like.  
  
Then came the waiting. About an hour later—an hour of sitting holding Steve’s hand and having his face kissed very gently, so it wasn’t all bad—the doctors came back.  
  
“Bad news first,” Bucky pre-empted them.  
  
“There’s an organism living in your large intestine,” the doctor said in response, which. Bucky had asked, but he still stared at her. The situation wasn’t helped by the awkward framing of her face through the hazmat suit.  
  
“You mean like a kind of bacteria?” Steve asked, grip tightening on Bucky’s hand.  
  
“No, I mean like a kind of jellyfish that’s bonded with the inside of his rectum,” the doctor said. Bucky had to swallow repeatedly against the sudden nausea. “The gelatinous creature that the Avengers fought must have implanted an egg or embryo of some sort while Mister Barnes was captive. Most of the other victims reported being penetrated by it, but since Barnes didn’t, we thought perhaps supersoldier biochemistry had been off-putting to it, or it simply hadn’t managed to get through his clothes. None of our scans at the time picked up anything in any of the victims, so the implantation must have been with something small that has since matured to cause this.” The doctor coughed. “We’ve brought in the other victims as well. They show similar…growths."

"...So what's the good news?" Bucky asked in a croaky voice.

She hesitated, which was the worst thing possible. "The reduction in body temperature is consistent among you. It's just a hypothesis, but we believe the, uh, incidents—estrus events, we're calling them for now—that you and the other victims experienced may have been for the purpose of collecting genetic material."  
  
"Jesus Christ," Bucky swore with his burning face hidden in both hands.  
  
"We were able to get internal scans of the other victims and part of the organism's anatomy appears to be a collection pouch. We don't know yet if it's analogous to a stomach or is something else entirely."  
  
Bucky dropped his hands and glowered at her. "How is this _good_ news?"  
  
She held her gloved hands up. "In one other patient the collection pouch appeared full, so as near as we can figure, there shouldn't be another estrus event. Once it gets what it wants, it may well allow itself to be expelled, especially if it's a juvenile of the life form that implanted it, or if it's been bioengineered for sample collection. The problem is, it may be like most known endoparasites, in which case it will just produce offspring that will be expelled from the body. If it digests the genetic material, it may also induce another estrus event when it's hungry again."  
  
All the blood drained from Bucky's face. He looked up at Steve, who didn't look any happier.

“So what are we gonna do?” Bucky asked. The doctor seemed to be looking at him, though it was hard to tell with the mask.  
  
“We wait, and keep you and the others together in quarantine. So far as we can tell, those who weren’t held within the slime itself haven’t been infected. They’re only affected by the release of the spores.”  
  
“'Spores,'” Bucky echoed, and was glad he’d been too occupied by the orgy to have eaten recently. They’d given him and Steve several bottles of water during the wait, and it felt like the water might well come back up.  
  
“Yes, the skin of the hosts emits what we can only describe as pheromone spores, hence triggering any surrounding individuals to participate in the estrus event.”  
  
That explained the pink glittery stuff then. Bucky sighed, swallowing yet again to calm his stomach.  
  
“Okay. So I assume there’s some sleeping areas for us here, then. Will we…will all of us be kept together?”  
  
“If you want that, then certainly. Clinicians are speaking to the other members of the Avengers right now.”

How many of them would even want to be kept in the same room as him? Steve would be by his side no matter the threat, of that Bucky had no doubt, but the others....

There wasn't much else in terms of news—SHIELD had captured the slime-creature itself and were holding it at a different site, but apparently it hadn't done anything but bob gently and hold onto the car. Which meant that from here on, it was just a waiting game. There would be daily check-ups, and once SHIELD brought in a Starktech body scanner they could get digital imaging of his body without risking his arm or mental health. Bucky sighed again and resigned himself to more nights of boredom and lack of privacy.

He shifted in his seat. That was a mistake because it brought his attention back to the damp readiness of his asshole, which he'd really been trying not to think about.  
  
Their quarantine room this time was outfitted with two rows of beds and a few tables. Nat, Sam, and Barton were already taking up one of the tables. The three of them looked up and waved a little when Bucky and Steve arrived via double airlock. Bucky felt some kind of way about seeing them there, presumably having volunteered to risk being exposed again. It was flattering, touching, and aggravating all at once.  
  
"What's the word?" Sam asked.  
  
Bucky cast around for words. He wasn't about to come right out and tell them the slime monster from a few weeks ago had fucked him and laid a smaller slime monster in his ass that was forcing him to get laid as often as possible for its own probably-nefarious ends, especially if the med-techs had already relayed that information. So Bucky just seated himself in a chair some ways away from the other and shrugged. "Oh, you know. Nothing good. You guys are in the clear, unless I turn into a sex magnet again."

Everybody nodded, and then Barton’s phone rang. He picked it up automatically, then actually looked at the screen and announced it was Banner and put the call on speakerphone.  
  
“The team’s mostly here, except for Tony and Rhodes,” Clint told him. “Say hello!”  
  
“Hey, uh, everybody,” Banner’s voice said from the StarkPhone. “I’m being kept separately in case I have some delayed reaction to, the, uh. The pheromone spores. They have Thor down the hall for the same reason. He says he’s fine, and that this isn’t the first time he’s encountered something like this, but…containment doesn’t seem like a bad idea to me.”  
  
At this the urge to apologize overpowered Bucky’s urge to joke about it all, and he forced his mouth to make the correct sounds to say it.  
  
“Look, I’m sorry,” he said, and forced himself to project it loud enough to reach the phone. “I wouldn’t have left quarantine in the first place if I’d known. I realize none of you wanted this.”  
  
Barton was obviously about to open his mouth and disagree, but Natasha laid a hand on Barton's knee and that silenced him. Then she fixed Bucky with a piercing stare. Bucky looked away, more ashamed than ever.

“Barnes," she began, her voice quiet, "this is the first time I’ve had sex with anyone other than Clint where I wasn’t punishing or testing myself and it wasn’t for a job. It’s the first time _ever_ I wasn’t thinking every moment about my training while doing it. I’ve always wondered what sex would be like for normal people, where they’re just enjoying themselves rather than performing. I think this might be the closest I’ll ever get.”

Bucky blinked. He’d expected anger, not…that. He didn’t know what to do with that.  
  
The phone crackled as Banner cleared his throat.  
  
“I haven’t had sex with anyone in ten years since I dosed myself with faulty serum,” he added. “I was pretty sure I’d never have sex again. This was…well, it was a surprise, I’ll say that, but not a bad one.” He coughed again. “And maybe I shouldn’t say this, but, uh. I think Tony and the Colonel might have an announcement of their own, soon. Like you and Steve.”

Bucky stared from one person to the next. They weren't looking at him like he was a buffet anymore, but nor were they watching him with resentment or pity or fear. "I don't...okay," he nodded. "Okay."  
  
Steve kissed the back of his neck. "I'll admit this isn't like any of the ways I'd imagined us getting together. But I didn't need spores to want you, and we're together now. Not much could make me happier."  
  
When Bucky looked at Sam, he just shrugged. "It was fun. And as alien attacks go, I'd much rather this than the Chitauri."

Barton just waggled his eyebrows and smiled. Bucky felt his face heat and he cleared his throat, struggling not to tear up. "You guys should know there is a chance it'll happen again."  
  
"I don't know if you noticed," Sam said, "but you were pretty needy when it happened." Bucky shot him a mildly offended look but had to admit he was extremely correct. "I'm willing to help a buddy out again if it comes to it—if it's not gonna be stepping on Cap's toes."  
  
Steve gave a considering hum, face turning beet red again. "I'm, uh. Lemme get back to you, I'm still processing that."

**

'Processing it' turned into 'fine with it' a few hours later when Bucky went into another 'estrus event.' It was milder than the first one, or at least seemed that way to Bucky. Though admittedly, that might have been because he wasn’t assuming this one was a dream. Steve fucked him a grand total of five times, which was dreamy; Barton (or Clint, Bucky figured he ought to be on a first-name basis with people who’d been inside him) three times, which was fun; and Sam a sedate twice, which unaccountably made Bucky blush every time they made eye contact. Natasha…well. Bucky was content to say he had a newfound appreciation for small hands.  
  
Afterward they all went for more scans, and the scientists declared the parasite "full.” Which was a phrase Bucky could stand to never hear again in his life, thank you very much.  
  
Then came more waiting. Their little group called Banner—or Bruce, rather—and Bucky found himself sad that Bruce hadn’t gotten to participate this time if the spores were his only chance at having sex again. 

**  
  
A week later, Tony having ordered entertainment for them all in the form of televisions and various games, scans showed changes in the shape and size of the endoparasite. In the other hosts, that had meant that the parasite was about to remove itself. Which in turn meant Bucky and Steve being brought in alone for closer observation.

The critter was definitely bigger. The feeling of fullness never went away by that point, and it was pretty distracting. The sensation got annoying at times, verging on painful at others. Bucky got loose all over again and was wetter than ever. Something was definitely about to happen.  
  
They waited out most of a day in a fishbowl quarantine room while Bucky got progressively less comfortable and Steve got progressively more henlike. He tried to tell Steve to lay off him at first, but begrudgingly admitted as time wore on that it actually was comforting. It was good to know that someone cared about his distress. 'Validating' was the word his therapist would have used.  
  
Oh boy was he ever gonna have a doozy of a next session.  
  
The first movement felt like indigestion. Bucky made a face about it and immediately wrote it off. The next was a gurgling ripple that he _couldn't_ ignore. Then the ripples started happening every few minutes, each a little sooner than the last.

"Something's happening," he gasped. "Ohhh that does _not_ feel good."  
  
"Here, lie down—" Steve led him to the bed, wide-eyed and bordering on spooked. "Is it...is it coming out? We should get your pants off if it's coming out."  
  
"It sure _feels_ like it's gonna go somewhere," Bucky grunted. Yeah, time to lose the pants. He writhed on his back as a pressure on the inside of his anal ring grew, like a particularly bad bowel movement or getting fucked in reverse. He locked eyes with Steve. "Rogers, listen to me for a minute. I swear by all the saints if you make one single childbirth joke we are breaking up."  
  
Steve raised his hands in placation. "That was the _last_ thing I had in mind to do."

Steve slapped the call button near the door to summon the doctors, and Bucky just…tried not to picture what was happening downstairs. It was difficult when he felt several small somethings slither out his asshole and brace themselves on his buttocks. For the first time, Bucky found himself wishing for the Chair again. He could really do without this memory.  
  
Then, with a truly disconcerting popping sensation and a long slide, the thing dragged itself out. After a week of growing pressure in his ass the relief of voiding it was immense. For about half a second Bucky tried to keep his eyes shut, but then he couldn’t take the suspense anymore, and pushed himself up on his arms to look, ignoring the raw feeling inside.  
  
_It does look a bit like a jellyfish,_ was all he could think. It was long, with a pale pink semi-translucent dome. At the top was something that looked like a rose, if roses pulsated, and a set of four almost magenta tendrils coming out the bottom.  
  
Before Bucky could do more than stare at it, it hopped off the exam table and walked itself to the corner of the room, where it subsided into a blush-colored lump.  
  
“What the actual fuck,” Bucky said, with real feeling.

"I don't think I'm ever eating Jell-O again," Steve remarked flatly.  
  
"Amen," Bucky agreed. They both stared in mute, fascinated horror at the thing. It was only the sound of tromping footsteps drawing near that broke him out of his stupor.

He had just enough time to cover his junk with his pants before the beekeeper brigade turned up. He and Steve pointed silently at the corner where the quivering parasite was sort-of hiding.  
  
What followed could only be described as a brief clusterfuck. The med tech team discovered two things very quickly:  
1\. The thing was very slippery; and  
2\. The thing could move alarmingly fast.  
  
Watching the suited people scramble around trying to catch the little monster had a song playing in Bucky's head: an old (but not as old as him) jaunty saxophone tune he'd heard as the soundtrack to a slapstick video. Seeing as how he'd already done the work of feeding, gestating, and (don't say birthing _don't say birthing)_ expelling it, Bucky found himself quite content to leave this part up to the staff. Thus he remained sitting on the bed with his pants in his lap and something he didn't want to think about dripping from his ass as the creature jumped, skidded, and scurried away from its would-be captors. Even Steve just did his best to stay out of their way as they crashed around the room.  
  
Eventually they lucked out and caught it in a clear box that was probably airtight or something.

"So are we free to go?" Bucky asked them.  
  
One suited figure stayed behind. Bucky recognized her voice from before. "We'll need to do a final scan before you go, but you're out of the woods now. Congratulations, Mister Barnes, it's a...squid."  
  
He glared at her back, stewing in the certainty that that had been a reference he didn't get.

When Bucky finally got up to put his pants back on, neither of he nor Steve could tell whether the clearish-pink stuff coming out of Bucky’s ass included blood or not. But given that the doctors hadn’t seemed worried, Bucky just tied his best not to think about it and wistfully imagined the bidets at home in the Tower.  
  
What followed was more than just a scan. The anal speculum made a second appearance, much to Bucky’s distress, but as it revealed no lasting damage, Bucky allowed himself to feel relieved at last. After the scan, he and Steve got a truly mortifying conversation about avoiding anal sex, taking stool softeners, and being careful not to 'strain' when pooping for the next week. Bucky just nodded in appalled silence, clutching his folded instruction sheets.  
  
Then, at long last, they got to go home.

**  
  
Later that week, eating a dinner he had cooked for himself and Steve, Bucky remembered something.  
  
“Do you want to go to the MoMA with me?”  
  
“Like a date?” Steve asked, and blushed. God, what a dweeb. A rush of softness went through Bucky.  
  
“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Like a date. We can, uh. Get meat pies afterward, if you want. That’s what had me out on the streets that day to begin with.”  
  
Steve smiled. The MoMA was sadly lacking in phallic sculptures, but the meat pies were delicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Bucky is thinking about during the parasite scene is the [Benny Hill theme](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MK6TXMsvgQg), also known as Yakety Sax.
> 
> The reference Bucky doesn't get is to Men In Black 1, specifically [this scene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VKr3nKbdYLQ).
> 
> This chapter is one of two possible endings to this fic! Hit the "next chapter" button for the other one.


	4. Alternate Ending: A New Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This diverges from the other possible ending after the scene where Bucky, Steve, Sam, Natasha, Bruce, and Clint all have a conversation in their quarantine ward.

Day by day, Bucky's fever and preoccupation subsided until one day he started grousing about the cold. All the medical techs could tell him about the parasite was that it appeared to have gone dormant—'quiescent' was the exact term they used. Any attempt to remove it would, it seemed, take most of his large intestine with it, so they left it alone. Reluctantly SHIELD let the Avengers out of time-out, and life resumed something close to normal.  
  
Outside of the 'estrus event,' anal sex still turned out to be plenty damn awesome. Even in its quiescent state the parasite made things both easier and more slippery. Steve certainly didn't complain. SHIELD had tried to warn them against doing this exact thing but realistically, after so many years of being in love and terrified to admit it, Steve and Bucky decided they had too much catching up to do to let a little thing like doctor's orders get in the way of their newfound sex life. Bucky even introduced Steve to the Hitachi wand and its attachments, and together they cooked up quite a few fun new things to do with them.  
  
Things were still a little awkward with the others at first, but in the absence of resentment or blame they all eventually grew a little closer for it. More of them were willing to touch Bucky casually now—and sometimes not-so-casually. Clint in particular liked to stand close and get his hands on Bucky.

Things were nice. Things were moving on.  
  
Just about a month later, Bucky woke up sweating in a cold room and aching between his legs. "Fuck," he told the ceiling, "I was afraid of this."

“JARVIS—“ he managed weakly, before a sudden ripple of sensation went through him.  
  
“Shall I…call the team to Assemble, here with you?” JARVIS asked genteelly. Bucky gasped out an affirmative. He was already past the point of embarrassment—he must have slept through the early stages of his 'estrus,' and the craving for sex was now intense.   
  
Ten minutes later, JARVIS had called the SHIELD medical team to let them know to be on stand-by, and Steve, Tony, Bruce, Clint, Natasha, and Sam were all there. Thor was on Asgard, and Rhodey in DC. Those present regarded one another, awkward in the knowledge that this time they all knew exactly why they were here but didn’t yet have the excuse of being affected by the pheromone spores.  
  
Steve clearly didn’t care about anyone else. He climbed right into bed with Bucky, wrapping an arm around him and brushing the damp hair out of Bucky’s face.

“I’m going to fuck my boyfriend,” he announced to the room. Bucky nodded, eager, and Steve tilted Bucky’s face toward his to look into his eyes. “Is there anything—or anyone—you want or don’t want?”  
  
Bucky just squirmed out of his pyjama pants, turning over onto his belly and lifting his hips. It was shameless, he knew it, but what was the point of being anything else? He had an alien parasite up his ass demanding he be fucked. He’d been naked for Hydra scientists, and by comparison this wasn’t half so bad.  
  
So Steve divested himself of his own sleep clothes, curved his body over Bucky’s back, and slid home like he belonged there.

The others fell under the spores' spell soon enough. Bucky lost track of how many times each of them fucked him but they all came back for at least seconds. (Steve went somewhere in the vicinity of half a dozen, bless him, praise him.) They had Bucky singly and in pairs and threes, riding two cocks at once or babbling praise for Nat's slender, clever hands. Bucky took all of it, took all of _them,_  and he came, and he came, and he came. By the time he stopped sweating out spores he was soft and staying that way despite the dry orgasms that made his limbs quake. Time drifted away from him again.  
  
Sam held him tight around the middle and rocked into him with three final thrusts as he spilled into Bucky (or, more accurately, into the parasite) one last time. No one stepped up to take Sam's place this time; they were all catching their breath and coming back to their senses after the frenzy. Bucky just lay back in the bed (it was useless to try to avoid the wet spots) and stretched luxuriously, relishing the glow of having made it through another heat.

The others stuck around for a while to make out lazily.  
  
"Thank you," Bucky sighed. "Everyone good?"  
  
Everyone was good.

**

The other slime victims, it turned out, didn’t go into 'estrus' for another three weeks, but they did go. As the months passed, it became a pattern: Bucky's heat happened every thirty days. The un-enhanced humans had it every fifty days. The scientists hypothesized it was something to do with the speed of Bucky’s metabolism.  
  
Every month, Bucky worried he might be damaging his friends. Every month, they showed no ill side-effects aside from sore muscles and occasionally some bite marks when Bucky got too excited.  
  
At around month five, Rhodey reappeared. Then the team started asking Bucky if they could invite friends.

He held out for a little while, begging off with 'maybe next time,' but the closer he came to an estrus event the more on board with it he became. Some months there were more people, some, fewer. Once, Steve was the only one available when it hit and it took two days of fucking and recuperation to sate Bucky. Another month, vigilantes on SHIELD's radar turned up from all over New York as if Bucky's heat was a gala; the gangbang lasted all night and wrecked a few pieces of furniture, but Bucky hadn't felt so much like the life of the party since he'd gone out dancing in the 40's.   
  
Every so often he heard back from the SHIELD medical techs about their progress towards a safe removal method. But as the months passed, Bucky found he cared less and less about it. His friends were there for him. His boyfriend was the most amazing and understanding man in the world. The sex was incredible. As far as he was concerned, his relationship with the thing in his ass was less parasitic and more symbiotic. He could live with that.

It seemed inevitable when not-so-casual touches between heats and from the other Avengers became brief, random trysts. Bruce in particular made an effort to be solicitous and spend more time with Bucky. No one had him as often as Steve, and no one loved him like Steve, but the others were lovely in their own way, and it was all flattering and enjoyable. (So long as they kept themselves out of the common rooms. Bucky didn't like fucking other people in the bed he shared with Steve, and Tony didn't like having to get a cleanup crew into every room of the house.) When Bucky was finally cleared for field work, more than once the team shared him in the quinjet after a mission. It turned out to be a great team building exercise, and for Bucky, it was always a hell of an ego boost.

The weekend after a particularly exhausting estrus found Steve and Bucky wandering down the streets of Staten Island hand-in-hand, meat pies occupying their other hands. That bakery was always worth the commute.

Steve’s phone beeped its text tone. He transferred his pie to his mouth to check it, then stuffed the phone back into his pocket. “Sam and Clint are both in to party tonight.”

Bucky blushed. A flash of memory of the last time they’d 'partied' came to him: Steve and Sam sliding into his ass together while Barton held the back of his head and thrust into his mouth. They’d had a leisurely second round where each of them took him one at a time. A shudder of anticipation ran through him.

“Awesome,” he grinned.

As they passed under a scaffold Bucky hung back long enough that they tugged each other and both rocked on their heels before stopping.  
  
"What's up, Buck?" Steve beamed at him, eyes bright and curious.  
  
Across the street a teenager pointed her smartphone at them. Amateur and paparazzi photos of the two of them being coupley were all over the internet by now. (Bucky would know, he was still dumb enough to Google himself sometimes, and it was impossible to avoid the media outrage the first photos had sparked. Someday they'd do some ridiculous official Avengers press conference and enrage the Right wing still further. Thankfully no one knew about Bucky and the other Avengers, and it was gonna stay that way. Only his boyfriend got PDA.) People pointing cameras at him still made him anxious, but he was getting used to it. It was either that or never go outside and give up being an Avenger.  
  
But when Bucky really looked, him and Steve weren't what the teenager was looking at: a year later these two particular buildings still showed some damage and faint pink stains.

"This is where it all started," Bucky remarked, gesturing at the buildings.   
  
"Hmm?" Steve followed his gaze. "Oh, yeah. I guess it is, huh."  
  
They resumed walking. "You know sometimes I think we might'a had that thing all wrong."  
  
"What d'you mean?" Steve asked, taking another bite.

Bucky pursed his mouth to the side. "SHIELD still has the slime on lockdown, right? But maybe we should let people in to see it." Steve huffed out an incredulous noise, but Bucky went on. "You weren't in it, so you don't know what it was like. And I mean really, what did it do? Grabbed a few people, made us stop freaking out, made us feel _really_ fucking good—"  
  
Steve glanced at Bucky and jokingly warned, "Careful, I might get jealous."

Bucky snorted at that, dropping Steve's hand to slap his arm. "If you don't get jealous about sixteen other people running a train on me you ain't gonna get jealous about a slime monster that can't touch me again. But Steve, my god, I never told you, it was incredible. Like...mind-blowing, loss for words, life-changingly awesome. I will probably never experience anything like that again in my life."  
  
"Okay now I _am_ jealous," Steve laughed.  
  
"Yeah, of _me,"_ Bucky leered back. "But no, I mean, it just did all that, and then the after effects of it blowing my mind is I've got this thing inside me that makes our sex life extra crazy once a month. What's so bad about that? I mean...does that really qualify as bad?"  
  
Steve was quiet for a few strides, but he squeezed Bucky's hand.

Finally Bucky polished off the last of the pie and shrugged. "I dunno. Too late for it now, SHIELD is never gonna let that thing out." He smiled at Steve just to see him smile back. He'd never grow tired of seeing that, not if he lived another hundred years. "But I think I'm grateful to it."  
  
"Sore comfort for the monster, pal. Solitary confinement is apparently pretty bad."

"Ain't gotta tell me. Anyway, SHIELD hasn't changed since you brought it down, they're probably visiting it all the time. And I'm just saying! A lotta good things came outta that day. I'm glad things are the way they are. Especially between us." He paused for effect. "All three of us."  
  
Steve stumbled over his own feet, and Bucky smirked to himself.

"That's uh. Counting our little friend down there?"  
  
"Yeah. Call it a silent partner," Bucky smirked.    
  
"Then I'm okay with it too." Steve leaned over and kissed Bucky's cheek, right there on the street in broad daylight, and like so many uncommon things that felt right, it was allowed.


End file.
